


Bystander

by raspberrycoffeecake



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6452650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrycoffeecake/pseuds/raspberrycoffeecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A part of Walter Skinner has always wanted to be Fox Mulder.  And a part of him has always wanted Dana Scully.  A look at the X Files through Skinner's eyes (especially Seasons 8 & 10).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Assistant Director of the FBI Walter Skinner sat in a stiff, cheap motel chair watching Special Agent Dana Scully across the dark room as she slept. The only light in the room came from the streetlight glow that managed to find its way through the heavy curtains onto the floor. But even without much illumination, he could see her chest rise and fall as she slept on her side. Even in the dark, the strands of her red hair were bright as they spread across her pillow. And he could see the gentle curves of her body through her thin nightgown and the coarse sheets: her soft, slightly enlarged breasts and the barely perceptible swell of her belly and backside.

He had been sitting with her like this for the past five nights, since that night in Montana when she didn’t sleep at all, her body wracked with silent sobs after their worst fears had come true. She didn’t have the strength to protest against his vigil that night, and he couldn’t think of anything to do but sit there across the room, silently watching her fall apart.

The next night, she had tried to get rid of him. She had turned her best, sternest Scully gaze on him and said, “I’ll be fine, sir. You really don’t need to babysit me like this.”

He ignored her. And so they fell into this routine: she would lie down and, after a few uneasy minutes, she would fall asleep, and he would watch her from across the room. He assumed she was only able to sleep at night because her body and mind were so tortured from the day that when her head hit the pillow, her body subconsciously sought its only possible release. He wondered if she dreamed of Mulder - if she dreamed of happier times, if she dreamed of finding his lifeless body, already cold.

Sometimes Skinner would sleep a little, too, his head lolling back against the hard chair back, but he would always wake up suddenly with a crick in his neck. He didn’t care about his own sleep at this point. But he would always wake a little before her and slip back to his own room, where he would shower and shave and put on a fresh suit, and they would both act as if the last night had never happened.

He wondered if tonight would be different. Today they had buried Mulder in his family’s cemetery in North Carolina. They had actually put his body in a coffin, put the coffin in the ground, covered it with dirt. His friends, his only remaining family - Scully and her mother - had stood around the grave and said a few words. Then they had all departed as quietly as they had come. Skinner had held Scully in the cemetery, and he had gently led her back to his car and taken her back to the motel.

When they entered her room, she had tried again to protest his presence, said she needed to be alone. But the desperate look in her eyes told him otherwise, so he insisted on staying, “at least until you fall asleep.” He wondered if she would cry again, if this time he would hold her, tell her she would be alright. But she went about her bedtime rituals silently, the expression on her face completely closed. And now she had been asleep for three hours, her form completely still.

He allowed his mind to drift as he watched her. He thought back to the first time he had seen her. She had walked into his office, still teasing Mulder about something they must have been discussing in the hallway, a wide, playful grin on her face. As they took chairs in front of his desk, her smile had faded into a serious expression, but as Mulder summarized their report for Skinner, he was barely listening. All he could think about was this red-haired angel who had somehow fallen into the mundane world of the Hoover Building. All he could do was imagine kissing those full, red lips and placing his hands on her narrow waist.

He never acted on his impulses, of course. She was his subordinate. That wouldn’t be right. And, probably more importantly, she never had eyes for anyone but Mulder. Not that he believed, most of the time, that their partnership was anything other than professional. But it was clear that there was no room in Dana Scully’s life for anyone else. 

Sometimes he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to go with them on one of their crazy adventures. He would never admit it to anyone, but whenever he read one of their reports, he imagined being there with them, a third member of their basement crusade as they criss-crossed the country fighting monsters and parasites and witches. Usually it just made him more irritable when they showed up in his office with yet another mess they had gotten themselves into.

But other times, he resolved to help them from the inside, imagining that he was their ally, their protector, even. He told himself that when he took the data tape from Mulder’s desk, a year and half into their partnership. But, ultimately, he always felt shut out of their insular world. He thought back to that night when Scully pointed her gun at him in Mulder’s apartment, unable to trust him even as he was risking his life for her. Would she have trusted Mulder in that situation? He knew the answer before he had even asked himself the question. 

Skinner thought back to that one time he took Scully out to dinner. Mulder was working undercover with the New Spartans at the time and Skinner told her it was to keep her mind off of Mulder and the danger he was in. He had taken her to a nice restaurant, ordered a good bottle of wine, and brought out his most charming stories. But from the way she fidgeted and lost track of the conversation every few minutes, it was clear that his plan hadn’t worked. 

He helped her into her coat as they were leaving the restaurant, and he offered to walk her back to her car.

“It’s alright, sir,” she had said, “I appreciate the thought but you don’t have to be chivalrous just because Agent Mulder’s not here.”

He had nodded silently and when he got back to his car, he had slammed his hand on the dashboard so hard, it hurt for days.

On the other hand, she had kissed him once. She had actually kissed him. In the elevator in the FBI building, practically in public. He had almost danced back to his office. But even then, the rational part of his brain reminded him that she had not kissed him out of love or desire. She had kissed him because he had helped her find Mulder. It all came back to Mulder.

And that’s how it was. They would work together, he would help her track down Mulder or save him from the repercussions of some crazy scheme he had gotten himself into, he would feel a rush of adrenaline working next to her, but she was always Mulder’s.

At some point, he realized that Agent Mulder and Agent Scully had finally crossed the line between partners and lovers. She started smiling more. She would spend entire meetings barely looking away from Mulder’s face. They would hold hands when they thought no one was looking. Skinner wasn’t about to report them, but watching them made him feel oddly empty inside.

He tried to be happy for her. He tried to be pleased that, after all she had been through, she had finally found some shred of joy to hold on to. But he usually just found himself feeling bitter and lonely.

Well, so much for Agent Scully’s happiness. He himself had taken that away, by failing to protect Mulder in Bellefleur. Before they left for Oregon, she had grabbed his hand with surprising force and, looking into his eyes with the most intense and focused expression he had ever seen from her, and she had demanded, “Promise me you’ll bring him back safe. Promise me.”

Of course he had promised. And he had failed. The one thing she had ever asked of him, he had failed to do.

Then he had promised her they would find him. An empty promise, since he had failed her the last time. So he would make it up to her. He was her crusader, on a quest to bring her back what he had taken away from her. It would be the two of them against Kersh, Doggett, and whoever else these bastards would throw at them.

They flew out to Arizona and he couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of this woman, standing out in the hot desert sun, pregnant with the child of a man who might never come back. She let him sit with her in her dark motel room as they waited for news, waited to see what Doggett’s task force would turn up. The second night, she let him hug her lightly and touch her cheek before he returned to his own room. His skin burned for hours afterward at her touch.

But their brief partnership, the us-against-the-world feeling she had shared with Mulder for so many years, evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. Doggett had stepped in and quickly gone from nemesis to confidant. Skinner had enviously read the report of how Doggett had saved Scully from a parasitic worm and a cult town, wishing that he had stepped in to be her rescuer. He imagined saving her with his quick thinking, holding her in his arms and carrying her to safety. Maybe she would have even given him a kiss on the cheek.

As much as he tried, he was never her partner, her protector, or her lover. All he could do was pathetically insist on keeping watch over her, as if that could substitute for real action. And she was lying here alone, facing the reality of raising Mulder’s child while he lay in the cold ground, with no chance of return.

Suddenly, she stirred in her sleep. She made a soft noise that sounded almost like a muffled sob. He froze, unsure of what he should do. Maybe he should just ignore it, allow her to continue sleeping undisturbed. 

But somehow, that seemed impossible to do. Slowly, unsteadily, he stood up. He walked over to the bed. He hovered over her sleeping form for a moment, trying to build up the courage to do what he wanted to do. To do the right thing, he told himself, although he wasn’t completely convinced that was true.

After a few seconds of indecision, in one movement, he lay down behind her in the bed and gathered her into his arms. She was still for a moment, but he could feel her heart beat accelerate as he breathed softly into her neck. Then, she leaned into his embrace, pulling her body closer to his.

He wasn’t expecting that, and a chill ran through him. This was it. He was actually lying in bed with Dana Scully in his arms.

As she tucked her body against him, one hand settled on her shoulder and one hand settled on her waist, a few inches from where her child was steadily growing. He could feel her ass rubbing against his cock. And, fuck, he could feel himself getting hard.

Should he pull away before she noticed? Shit, this was embarrassing. He wanted to comfort her, and all he could do was show her how attracted he was to her. To the mother of his dead agent’s unborn child.

Even that thought couldn’t stop his arousal. She must have noticed by now. But all she did was pull her body closer to his and whimper softly. Almost against his will, he reached his hand up to brush her hair out of her face and kissed her softly on the cheek.

Then, somehow, she had turned around to face him and her lips were an inch away from his own. This was not supposed to happen. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to get up and walk back to his chair, away from the thrill that ran through his body when she touched him. Instead, as if acting on their own accord, his fingers came to rest on her jawline and his lips met hers.

He felt her respond, kissing him back, and that’s when he lost all control. His hands flew to her hair, her face, her breasts as his lips and his tongue desperately invaded and claimed her mouth as his own. 

But when her hand moved behind his neck to pull him closer, something rational kicked in and he jumped up and off of the bed, as if an electrical shock had just run through him. He stared down at her tiny body as she looked up at him, her eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep - and maybe desire?

He stood completely still for a moment, just gazing at her. He ran his hands over his face. “Do you want this?” he asked slowly. He could feel his heart beating quickly as he realized he was afraid of any answer she might give.

She ran her tongue over her lips, and he realized then that he was fully aroused. He was over fifty, for God’s sake, and she hadn’t even touched him yet!

Then she nodded, slowly, almost imperceptibly. And he was beside her on the bed again in an instant, touching, caressing, kissing her everywhere he could. She moaned softly in response, driving him even crazier. He lifted her silky nightgown over her head and she lay before him, wearing only a pair of loose cotton panties. And he was in awe.

He gently kissed her lips before running his hand down her torso. He kissed each breast once, gently sucking its nipple into his mouth, before running his hand over her stomach. He paused there, about to kiss her swelling belly, too, when she put her hand beneath his chin and, with a fierce look in her eyes, said, “Don’t.”

So he pulled her into his arms again, gently stroking her hair and her arms, and she sighed.

After a few minutes, she broke the silence again. “Sir?” she said, in a voice that was surprisingly tiny and vulnerable.

He paused. Should he call her “Scully,” in that casual but incredibly intimate way Mulder always did? Was that what she wanted? No, better not to remind her.

Summoning all of the tenderness and love he could put into a single word, he kissed her cheek. “Dana.”

There was another pause. Finally, in a very different tone, she said, “Take your damn pants off.”

***

When he woke to sunlight streaming through the narrow gap in the curtains, tangled in cheap motel sheets, and a very naked Scully in his arms, Skinner pondered his options. He could leave before she woke up, and pretend this had never happened, that this had all been some mistake fueled by grief that they would both eventually recover from. Or he could wait until she woke up and play the role of eager lover. He chuckled at that - Scully would probably not respond well to such a violation of her privacy.

So he decided to compromise. He kissed her gently on the cheek and she stirred slightly. Pulling a strand of hair away from her temple, he said, “I’m going back to my room to shower and change. Can I bring you breakfast?”

The sleepy smile she gave him was so radiant, it nearly knocked him backward.

“Thanks.”

Then, she rolled over and went back to sleep. And he quietly got up, dressed, and returned to his room.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t call her after they got back from North Carolina. He knew she was at her mother’s, and he didn’t want to trespass on her family time. And he still didn’t really know how she felt about what had happened between them. He was antsy, pacing around his office when he was alone, unable to sit down, staring at the phone for hours on end.

One evening, five days after they had returned, he was sitting alone in his apartment with the TV on mute, ignoring the glass of wine he had poured for himself, when he heard a soft knock on the door. His heart jumped, desperately hoping and desperately fearing it was her.

When he opened the door and saw her tiny frame standing in front of him, he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her hand as gently as he could, pulled her inside, closed the door, and enveloped her in his embrace. He could feel her wet tears on his shoulder, through his t-shirt, before he even realized she was crying.

He sat her down on the couch and wrapped his arms around her so that her head was resting on his chest. Then the sobs came and her whole body shook as hot tears left little wet tracks on his shirt. He kissed the top of her head as he held her, struck by how this fierce woman, who had shot men more times than he cared to count, who cut open dead bodies with cool precision, who was never visibly shaken, even in the middle of a crisis, could seem so vulnerable right now.

They didn’t talk at all. At one point, she turned her face toward him and pulled his lips down to hers with a rough, unspoken need. And as much as their first time making love had been gentle and sweet, this time was rough and full of passion and maybe even, he thought, some anger on her part. They tore each others’ clothes off right there on the couch and, driven by her fierce kisses, he pushed her down, entered her, and thrust hard inside her until they came together in an explosion that gave way to total exhaustion.

When he had regained the ability to move, he picked up her now sweetly sleeping form and tucked her into his bed before lying down beside her, watching her chest rise and fall.

In the morning, when he groggily rose for his shower, there was no sign of her having ever been in the apartment at all, except for his own discarded shirt and pants lying next to the couch.

***

Skinner walked from the parking garage to the X Files basement office with some apprehension as he watched for people who might spot him. He knew that Doggett had already left to interview some witnesses and Scully was in the office alone. And it was Friday afternoon, when most people had already left for the weekend, so there weren’t likely to be a lot of people in the corridors down here.

All the same, what he was doing made him nervous. Such a public display was out of character for him, and he knew that the gossip mill would go into overdrive if someone saw AD Skinner in the basement of the Hoover Building holding a dozen roses.

But he felt a rush of adrenaline, too. So what if they talked? Maybe the betting pool on the provenance of Scully’s child would shift in his favor. He smiled a little at the thought.

No, that wasn’t fair. Scully didn’t deserve idle gossip. So he walked faster, the door to the basement office finally in sight. He knocked, glancing around to make sure no one was in the corridor.

After a moment, Scully opened the door, her cheeks flushed and no shoes on her stockinged feet.

“Sir? Can I help you?”

He transferred the bouquet to her unsuspecting hand as she looked at him with a somewhat puzzled expression. “Agent Scully, would you be so kind as to join me for dinner tonight? I can assure you that, despite appearances, I am actually an excellent cook.”

A small smile appeared on her face. Not a big grin, but he would take it. “I would be delighted. What time should I show up?”

“Seven o’clock.” On a whim, he grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I’ll see you then.”

Then, afraid she might change her mind if he stayed too long, he quickly retreated to his car so he could pick up the groceries for dinner on his way home.

Skinner was not normally the type of man who made grand romantic gestures. He had always believed that good food, good wine, and good conversation were enough to attract any woman with taste and substance. But he realized that, in the battle he was fighting with a ghost for Scully’s heart, he needed any advantage he could get. So he bought another bouquet, this one a mix of wildflowers, for the table. He wouldn't serve her wine, of course, but he chose a fancy sparkling lemonade and he bought the best sausage, tomatoes, cheese, and fresh pasta for his mother’s famous lasagna recipe.

When he opened the door for her a few hours later, his jaw dropped. She was wearing a pair of sandals and a turquoise empire waist dress that proudly showed off her new body, including her belly, which seemed to have grown since the last time he had seen her. She was six months pregnant, after all, he reminded himself. Her hair fell in loose waves that she would never allow into the office. And she had a slightly self-satisfied smile on her face as she handed him the loaf of bread she had brought from her own local bakery.

He took the bread from her hand and brought it over to the counter to slice. She was still standing a little awkwardly by the door so, almost without thinking, he walked back over to her and kissed her softly on the lips. It had been over a week since they last made love, and he hoped the hunger in his eyes showed her that his desire had not waned. She blushed a little as he pulled out a chair and poured her a drink.

They had eaten and talked (he had made her laugh twice!) and sat on the couch listening to the jazz CD he had put on and then they started kissing and he had carried her to the bedroom giggling and kicking at him and he had pulled off her dress and kissed her all over her body. Well, he kissed her all over her body except the one place he had never tried to touch since she had told him not to the first time.

But she was in a good mood tonight and he was feeling bold, so he decided to try again. Locking his eyes with hers, looking for signs of trouble, he gently lowered his mouth to her belly button and kissed it. Her eyes were unreadable. He smoothed his hands over her stomach, entranced by its shape and smooth lines. He kissed it again, then moved back up until his face was level with hers again.

The present was so uncertain right now that he usually tried not to think about the future at all, but now thoughts of a future together came to him unbidden and without warning. Pressing his face into the soft flesh of her shoulder, he imagined her child. Son? Daughter? She must know if it was a boy or a girl by now, but she hadn’t told him. Yet. He imagined holding the child in his arms. Living in a big house in the suburbs, watching this child run and play in the yard, go to school, grow up. He realized at that moment that he wanted to marry her. He wanted to marry Dana Scully and be a father to her child. She might not be ready yet, but when she was, he would ask her and they would finally tie their lives together. FBI gossip mill be damned.

She had not protested when he touched her pregnant belly, so he decided it was time to say something. Tipping her chin up so he could kiss her gently on the lips, he said, “I love you, Dana.”

She shuddered and turned away from him. Not exactly the reaction he was expecting.

There was a long pause. Then, finally, “I’m not sure if I can love you back, Walter.”

His heart jumped. In two months of on-and-off love making, this was the first time she had said his first name. He pulled her close and kissed her again. She might not be sure if she could love him back, but he knew she could. It was just a matter of time - and healing.

***

A part of Skinner wanted to ignore the news about Billy Miles, but he knew that Scully would never forgive him if she ever found out. And, really, he doubted he would really be able to forgive himself. So he had chosen to exhume Mulder’s body, Scully had figured out how to bring him back to life, and now the man himself was sitting here in his old apartment with a decidedly sour attitude.

Skinner fought the urge to assert what he saw as his ownership over Scully by touching her lower back the way Mulder used to, or, fuck it, just kissing her right there in front of him. Then he fought the urge to punch Mulder when he sniped about Scully’s pregnancy and the hurt on her face was obvious.

But, of course, Skinner didn’t do anything. Instead he stood there, a concerned expression on his face, as Mulder responded bitterly to everything they said, even going so far as to imply Scully might have been carrying on an affair with her new partner. 

Skinner was so fucking invisible at this point that the real truth didn’t even occur to Mulder as a possibility. And it was obvious from the hurt and yes, goddammit, the love in Scully’s eyes that whatever Skinner had had with her was over and they would never speak of it again. It was always Mulder with her. No matter what he did, it would always be Mulder.

***

He hadn’t seen her in six years when, out of the blue, she called. They had been so far out of contact, he didn’t even have her current number saved in his phone, so when he saw an unknown DC number pop up on his screen, he had answered, “Skinner, who is this?”

A pause. “Former Special Agent Dana Scully.” Was that a hint of irony in her voice? He couldn’t tell.

“Dana. It’s been a long time. It’s nice to hear from you.”

He didn’t know what else to say. Why the hell are you calling? That didn’t seem like the best way to start the conversation off on a good foot. Luckily, she saved him the trouble.

“It has been a long time. I was wondering if you’d like to catch up sometime, maybe over dinner?”

He inhaled sharply. Fuck. Dana Scully was asking him out on a date.

“How does next Friday sound?”

“Gr-great,” he managed to get out. Then he took a deep breath. “I can pick you up at 7?”

“Seven it is. I’m living near Capitol Hill now, I’ll text you my address. See you next week.”

And, just like that, she hung up. She had just waltzed back into his life like nothing had happened and turned him into an emotional wreck.

When he had last seen her six years ago, she had been frantically searching for an injured Mulder, and it was pretty obvious, when she found him, that the spark was still there, so to speak. What had happened between then and now to make her reach out to Skinner, out of the blue? He didn’t have the strength to refuse her anything, that much was clear.

***

He arrived at her new apartment, a refurbished row house, at exactly seven, remembering that she, as a navy brat, would appreciate punctuality. She greeted him at the door in a long, sleeveless, shimmery, light-blue dress and a matching pair of strappy sandals. Her hair was long now, and straight with a little bit of curl at the ends. Time had obviously passed, but it had been kind to Dana Scully.

He handed her the flowers he had brought - he had chosen tulips, after much deliberation, since there wasn’t the implication that roses had - and kissed her on both cheeks. She smiled and went inside to put them in a vase.

He took her to a nice French restaurant in Chevy Chase and ordered them a good bottle of wine. Their conversation was all small-talk - about her work at the hospital, Bureau gossip, their mutual acquaintances from fifteen years ago. She smiled and laughed, but he could tell she was a little on-edge. One subject never came up in their conversation.

When dinner was over, he walked her back to her door, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her chastely on the lips as if they were two people just getting to know each other, rather than old comrades with a stormy history between them. Then she smiled enigmatically at him and went inside.

A week later, he finally built up the courage to call her. She agreed to go with him for sushi, and she ended up coming back with him to his apartment where they made love. As he was fucking her, she moaned and bucked and responded in all the right ways, but when he looked into her eyes, he saw nothing there. Not love, not satisfaction, not even anger. It was as if the light in her beautiful eyes had died out completely and she was just trying to dull whatever pain she was feeling with meaningless sex.

What the fuck had happened between her and Mulder? Mulder wasn’t dead - as far as Virginia state records showed, he was still living in the house they had owned together for the last six years. According to those same records, she was, too.

He knew she wouldn’t tell him about Mulder unless he tried to pry it out of her. And prying would be the best way to destroy this before it even started. So he decided to try another tactic.

If just being with her, loving her, couldn’t bring her back to life, then he would try surprising her. Making her angry, even. Even anger would be better than that dead, glassy look that told him she was feeling nothing at all.

So he invited her out again, a few weeks later. This time, as they came back to his apartment, a little sloppy with wine, he was ready. 

As he closed the door, she kissed him dispassionately, as if she were just going through the motions of sex. Before she could pull him automatically toward the bedroom, he pushed her up against the door and his mouth tore into her mercilessly. An “Oh!” escaped from her lips and surprise lit up in her eyes. Now, they were getting somewhere. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, continuing to kiss her hard as he did. Then he took his handcuffs from the drawer in the end table next to them and cuffed both of her hands.

He was taking a gamble here, he knew. If her desire for sex was overwhelmed by her anger at being cuffed by her former boss, he was likely to get a kick in the balls and the night would be over before it began. But along with the anger he saw, he also glimpsed hunger and he knew it was worth the risk. At least that dead look was gone.

The angry glint in her eyes drove him to fuck her harder and longer than he ever had before, until they were both lying, spent, on the bed, and he gathered her up in his arms. Apparently this had freed some strong emotions that she had been holding back, and she started crying quietly into his chest. He ran a hand through her hair, as he had done over a decade ago. 

Then he kissed her cheek and quietly said, “Dana…”

She looked up at him, tears still glistening in her eyes, and gave him a warning look. He ignored it.

“Dana, I don’t know what’s going on in your life right now, but I want you to know I still feel the same way about you that I’ve always felt.” He ran his hand through her hair again, to give himself strength. “I love you.”

“Walter…” was all she could manage before she broke into another fit of sobbing. Somehow, he didn’t think they were tears of joy over his confession.

As he suspected she would be, she was gone in the morning when he woke.

***

He saw her twice more after that - he took her out for dinner once more, and once, she invited him over to her apartment. Both times, she was restrained and unemotional, but he decided not to push it. 

And then it was over. His renewed connection with Scully, just like the first one, vanished without a trace, without him ever figuring out why she had sought him out in the first place.

When she and Mulder returned to the Bureau the next year, it was clear that the conflict between the two of them was gone, replaced again by love and mutual respect. Watching them in the hallways, at meetings, he sometimes wondered if Mulder would look at his old boss in the same way if he knew what had gone on between him and Scully. Or if they would be able to return to that comfortable banter if Mulder knew Scully had slept with someone else.

Skinner looked down at the report on his desk. He had forgotten how much he missed reading about their strange adventures on the road, chasing monsters and government conspiracies. As he thumbed through the latest report about a werelizard, he again imagined what it would be like to be in the field with them, chasing down crazy leads and seeing things he could only dream of. And he wondered whether they were back to living in the same house, or whether the thrill of the chase would bring them back together in some kind of steamy liaison, maybe beneath the taxidermied animal heads in that creepy motel. 

He shook his head and sighed. Then he put down Mulder and Scully’s report, put his reading glasses back on, and went back to his stack of requisitions.


End file.
